Territory of the Mojave
by Blizrun
Summary: The war for the Mojave has been won. The flag of the New California Republic flies high over the Hoover Dam. Now someone has to try and pick up the pieces. Cass had been spending the time since then moving at full speed ahead, but facing backwards... until she runs into an old friend - the famous Courier.


The air in Shady Sands had a bitter bite to it. Winter had arrived once again, bringing with it the cold and the rain. Residents and visitors kept their slicks drawn tightly around themselves, an umbrella by the front door. Today, thankfully, the skies were clear, letting the twilight shine upon the streets. The lights kept the sidewalks illuminated while the police kept their usual vigil.

The front door opened in the Department of Commerce's main office. A woman stepped out, reflexively reaching for a straw hat that wasn't there. There was a slight pause in her step as she walked down the steps. The woman chafed under the blazer and skirt she wore, missing her faded denim jeans, flannel shirt and leather jacket. Her feet, especially, missed her boots, uncomfortably rubbing in the heels.

It was all worth it, though. Her hands clutched tightly at the folder at her side. She could finally start bringing her father's dream back to life after she had been talked into signing it away two years ago. The war had been responsible for that. Somewhat. The war itself didn't destroy her company, but the predators that got fat during war did it. But, as of last week, the big businesses were trimmed down.

She took off down the street in a brisk pace, her red hair bobbing slightly. The hotel she stayed at was several blocks down the street, and she wanted to be back in time to take a shower, change, and get something to eat before the diner closed. She could have taken a taxi, but after sitting and waiting for hours, she needed to move around.

After only a few blocks, the woman came to a sudden halt. On the other side of the street, right next to the Hall of Congress, sat a figure. There was no way it could be him. She took a few steps towards the man, crossing the street with no regards for traffic.

It _was_ him.

"Kyle?" she called out, walking closer. The man looked up. Dear God, she thought. He looked so strange wearing a suit and tie, after all those months walking around the desert in a duster and boots. Yet, here he sat, in an all too familiar position. One leg sprawled in front of him, the other bent at the knee with his foot resting on the straightened leg. A cigarette dangling in his mouth, the ember glowing as he took in a breath at the sight of her.

"Cass?" he said, climbing to her feet. His lips drew back and his ruddy-brown expression brightened. He softly laughed.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy – Cass to her friends – embraced Kyle in a tight hug.

"What are you doing here?" Cass asked as she let Kyle go.

"Had another hearing," Kyle replied. At once, his hand dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Cass. Two years and he hadn't stopped doing that, even after she told him repeatedly during their time together in the Mojave that she didn't smoke. Now, as then, she declined. He put the pack back where it came from.

"Shit, are you serious? It's been two years since Hoover Dam. What could they still have to ask you?" Cass asked, crossing her arms. Kyle shrugged.

"Stupid stuff," he said. Cass laughed.

"You'd think that Congress would let the famous Courier enjoy his fame. Still more brahmin shit for brains in there. Some things never change," Cass said. The two started walking down the street. Not in the direction Cass needed to go, but she didn't care. Kyle continued to smoke as they walked, the clouds floating into the street and into the head of a horse-drawn cab as it made its way down.

"Why are you here?" Kyle asked.

"I finally got Cassidy Caravans back," Cass replied, patting the folder. Kyle looked at her expectantly. Still another thing unchanged about him, always wanting someone's story while being hard-pressed to say more than a brief sentence about his own.

"After Crimson Caravan fucked itself over, they needed money. And they sold any dead weight they could like a cheap whore. It took some time, since I was caught up in the Mojave War, but the government finally gave it the OK," Cass proclaimed.

Kyle nodded, took one last drag from his cigarette, and then tossed it away, grinding the cherry under the tip of his shoe. At once, he had another one out and lit. Cass grimaced.

"How many packs are you up to?" she asked.

"Two a day," Kyle replied, blowing smoke.

"You really need to cut back," Cass said. Kyle tossed her a sideways glance.

"Like you need to cut back on the whiskey?" Cass didn't say anything. He had her there. They walked on in silence for a moment.

"How have you been?" Kyle asked. Cass shrugged.

"All right. Haven't gotten knocked up or anything, so I got that running in my favor. I still have my share of flings, but nothing steady. Otherwise, I've spent most of the past couple years in and out of the capital," Cass said. She looked at Kyle. "How about you?"

"I've practically been living here since Hoover Dam," he said. "Hearing after hearing. Press bugging me," he shook his head and sighed.

They stopped at an intersection. Down the street, they could see Christmas Carolers singing outside a church. Cass blinked. She had forgotten that it was December now. The time of gift giving, when far flung friends and family come together and share each other's joy.

"How are Arcade, Boone and Veronica doing?" Cass asked.

"Veronica disappeared. Arcade's a teacher. Boone's back in 1st Recon," Kyle replied, eyeing the carolers too. The two sat there a minute, listening to _Joy to the World_ and thinking.

"We should have kept in contact. Had reunions. Shit like that. All the nights we spent looking after each other's back, the shoot outs we were in . . ." Cass shook her head. "We practically became family. We could count on each other for anything. I don't know how many hours Veronica and I spent talking about clothing."

Kyle kept his silence, still smoking. Cass noticed his far off gaze.

"Have you talked to your family since Hoover Dam?" Kyle nodded. "And?" Cass asked after he didn't say anything more.

"Nothing's changed. Still want nothing to do with me," he said, the tone his voice remaining even.

"Are you fucking serious?" Cass exclaimed. "After everything you did, they still disown you? Are they retarded or something?"

"Nope," Kyle said. "I still won't marry that girl they want me to, won't keep our tribe going."

Cass shook her head. Arranged marriages weren't uncommon in certain areas of the New California Republic, especially among the poorer farmers on the outskirts of the country. But Kyle's family was all citizens. His dad had a good job in the Gun Runners.

"Your parents must be drinking radiated water or something," Cass commented. She and Kyle turned off down another street.

"What are you plans for the future?" Cass asked.

"Congress wants me to be the territorial governor of Mojave," Kyle replied. "I'm considering it."

Cass came to a halt.

"You're joking, right?" she asked, eying him. "I mean, you? And politics? You're good at playing power games, real fucking good, I'll give you that. But become a territorial governor? I can't see it."

Kyle gave her a look she had only seen a few times before. She saw it first after he had came out of the Divide, where he had seen and done things that he never talked about. All he would say about his experience there was he had to bury a wretched man that cared nothing for anyone else. And that he had a promise to keep.

The next time she saw it was when he decided to unite the whole of the Mojave against the Legion. Veronica and Arcade went to negotiate a cease-fire with the Brotherhood. She and Boone convinced the Khans to break their alliance with Legion and leave the area. All Kyle said was that he was going to Vegas.

The next Cass heard, House was dead.

Cass shook her head.

"With the way you do things, the desert will be a tropical paradise." Kyle laughed, tossing his cigarette into the streets.

"What are your plans?" he asked.

Cass thought it was obvious. She just got her father's company back. Now she would—

It hit her. All her old contacts had moved on and she didn't know any of the new ones. And while she loathed admitting it, her best days were behind her. Bothersome aches were settling into her bones. And hangovers were hitting her longer, and harder, than they used to.

"I… don't know," she said, softly. Kyle looked over and nudged her.

"Come work for me," he said. Cass cocked her head.

"Work for you? Since when did you run a caravan?" she asked.

"I want you to help me run the Mojave," he replied.

Typical. He had already made up his mind and just wanted to hear her opinion. Cass didn't expect this offer, though. Her executive experience had been rather limited (and poor), and getting the Legion to mouth off their opinion on the Khans hadn't been very difficult.

"Now, when you say you want my help, do you mean sit behind a desk and take notes?" Cass asked. "Wear low-cut tops, tight skirts, and heels all day, saying, 'Yes, sir, Mr. Courier, I'll have those reports for you in a minute?'" She turned up the drawl and the intelligence down for the last one.

Kyle buried his face in his hand and busted out laughing. Cass smirked and chuckled as well.

"No…" he said, dropping his hand. "I want you to be my advisor."

"Well, I don't know," Cass replied. "I'm still in the same saddle, no matter which way you look at it. I don't know anything about politics, besides that I usually get fucked by it. Though, I suppose in this case, I'd be the one doing the fucking…" She looked off into the distance. "Again, the same saddle."

"Maybe, but you have good judgment for people," Kyle stated. When Cass didn't say anything, he looked at her. She felt his eyes boring a hole in her resolve.

"What the hell," she said, lazily turned toward him. "I'll do it."


End file.
